Opportunities
by TheKittyRin
Summary: Kimblee had felt them all - lust, gluttony, envy, greed, wrath, pride, sloth - and yet, there was one he loved best. / Warning: graphic violence, viewers discretion is advised


**Opportunities**

_by TheKittyRin_

**Summary**: Kimblee had felt them all - lust, gluttony, envy, greed, wrath, pride, sloth - and yet, there was one he loved best. _Warning_: graphic violence, viewers discretion is advised.

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Kimblee was a man who seized every opportunity he could get.

It began at a very young age. His parents always fought, always yelled, always hit. They shook the entire house every day till it became routine for the small boy.

It continued until it ended.

His mother's corpse, bloody, laying on the marble floor as blood oozed out and her blond hair turned scarlet. Her eyes, disconnected and glazed, looked into the distant, never to blink again. At that moment, Kimblee understood what death was.

A boy of his age would be expected to cry, to yell and to live with emotional scars.

But, he never cared, never showed sadness, never expressed his grief at his mother's funeral. Inwardly, he felt something for his mother but it was mostly resent mixed into it.

He loathed his mother for being so weak and he loathed his father for taking her away from him.

Yet, he endured.

He took every chance he had to rise in school, blackmailing students and beating them until their bones broke and they remained silently numb.

He repeated every word the teachers wanted to hear, like a broken lullaby that one sings over and over. He smiled with utmost respect when they passed him in the hallway, bowing his head low.

He flirted with all the pretty girls, who giggled when he lied that they were the only ones in the world that mattered, only to leave them cold and rotten once he was done with them.

Everyday, when his father complimented him on his good grades and fine physique, he nodded and inside, something grew.

_Greed_.

He wanted to have it all, to see it all because he deserved it. Everything would one day belong to him.

_Envy_.

Sometimes, he found himself wanting things that others had; he discovered what jealousy was and understood to never let it show on his face because it was a weakness he could not allow himself to show freely.

_Gluttony_.

He indulged in alcohol, food and women. The combination of all three was the delight of life that confirmed his suspicion that living was immensely better and death was a finality he did not want to envision. _He_ would not be weak.

_Sloth_.

When he grew in power, he understood. He knew that hard work was not an option, not when others could do the dirty work for you. There were better ways, easier ways.

_Lust_.

He caved in, satisfying his needs with women. They were all the same, all stupid and beautiful, all seeking money and power. He never understood the notion of love, but lust, that was easy to comprehend.

_Wrath_.

He felt anger, fury beyond anything else. Those fools who criticized him, he showed them. He marvelled when their little necks snapped or when they burned alive in front of his eyes, the orchestra of screams ringing in his ears like a harmony of jingling bells.

_Pride_.

There it was, the sin that he loved most above all. He became conceited about who he was, finally coming to terms that he was above everyone else. He knew he was a god and they were his servants, and that there were races of people that were better than others.

It was the reason he joined the Ishvalan war. Like any military alchemist, he didn't have a choice. Others were skeptic about the war, but not him.

He always looked forward to killing.

He always laughed when he heard the crowd of muffled cries that resonated in the dusty air as they burned to crisp and became ash.

The mutilated corpses, barely alive, fighting to move away from him, all in vain. The guts spilling on the sand, the blood leaking out of their bodies so quickly that they barely had time to fight their way through the crowds of death. Clothes tainted scarlet, hanging from the grey cadavers.

His black eyes shining with excitement when he saw mothers try to save their children, and their destinies dawning in their stares as they clutched their infants tightly,.

The decimate of the Ishvalans, all thanks to him.

He took opportunities when he saw them.

When they offered him the philosopher stone, he was intrigued. The odd stone, glimmering red under the sun, reflected in his eyes and he felt the power the small object possessed when it weighed down in his ivory-white hands.

His pulse escalated and his heart thudded when he felt the souls all shriek from agony, from pain and from death.

He sneered.

So, this was _real_ power.

At that moment, Kimblee understood that he was not a mere human, he was a god. He could be immortal if he so desired, but immortality did not seem like the end goal, in the end. He didn't care if he died or lived, all he wanted to do was make people suffer. If he was allowed to do so by living forever, then so be it.

Kimblee grew powerful and he knew there would be a moment when the stone would be robbed from him. Such a weapon was too powerful, too dangerous to be left in the hands of an alchemist, and too many people would be after the stone. After the war, it would be asked of him to give it back. He would not allow anyone to steal away his god-like status.

So, he killed his superior.

He did it in a whim, as with all his preys; strategizing was futile and unnecessary. He watched their surprised faces turn to pain, and watched the skin turn red and reveal the layers of muscles and organs that belonged to the human body. He watched their bodies become indistinguishable and inhaled the smell of death.

He felt alive.

Even after being locked away, Kimblee knew. He knew this was not the end of him, not yet. Much like school, he practiced everything his father had taught him, and never showed any signs of his sins.

He waited.

He listened to the whispers, the rumors of change. It was slow, and he quickly lost count of how many days he spent there, but that hardly mattered because he knew that just like everything else in life, there would be an opening, an opportunity.

In jail, there were many that died.

The stench of metal and blood was almost a companion by now, one he greeted with open arms.

A lot of the prisoners went insane from seclusion, and some even tried to take their own lives. Some succeeded, some failed but never without any consequences, he noted when he saw the body of a prisoner almost crumbled to a side where deep bruises were drawn upon the canvas of his skin.

Others were taken somewhere and never seen again, but their ghosts lingered in the emptiness.

It was the same pattern he had so often seen in Ishval and Kimblee understood that his opportunity was soon to come.

Humans were too predictable, after all, and he knew that once they had tasted the delicious fragrance of the philosopher stone, there was no going back. Nothing could surpass it, nothing could alter it.

When he heard the door creak open and the sound of leather shoes against the hard floor, he knew this was it. He sat up straight, his eyes remaining shut and his mouth twisted in a sly smile. He heard them enter his cell, almost frantically and apprehensively, their breaths short and hot and warming the room already.

He snapped his eyes open, watched them for a second as he recognized the blue military uniforms that had once belonged to him.

They did not say anything but one of the men, instead, reached for something in his pocket and pulled it out.

He instantly understood what it was. The stone emitted a familiar red light, glinting under the dimness of the room and he heard the whispers of the souls, yearning to him.

He heard the whisper, and sneered. The whispers of his comrades in prison, all slaughtered like fresh meat.

The corner of his lips widened into a large grin and inside, the sin of pride rejoiced.

_His opportunity had come._

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Kimblee is a massive psychopath and yes, I wrote something in the eyes of a psychopath. _yaaaay_. This was a challenge I set for myself to try and write from the perspective of one of the characters I dislike most from Fullmetal Alchemist, and although I despise Shou Tucker with a scary intensity, Kimblee comes in first on my list of disgusting characters. Anyways, I'd love to hear constructive criticism as I never write violent set ups, and happy holidays everyone ~


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